RED IS THE COLOR OF MY TRUE LOVE’S HORSE
Animals have accents too.
Squirrel’s provincial vowels are
complicit in their transient confinement.
Why do we allow this to occur?
I can’t breakfast in peace
without overhearing tree slang
littered with caustic purrs.
The branches shake
adding to the sky’s inconsistent view.
Picnic table and strawberry
plant ravished, juices strewn.
My dogs are less than useless,
preoccupied with vernaculars,
they lack the patience of nouns.
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